Disciple Street
He's come in all slow and dark
Selling what things he can
"Come in behind me in April or March
When, the fresh wind blowing can
Make all things quicken and ripen too."
They're bringing up his face
Before the sun rises too close
For, the truth be covered up in lace.
They all seem to see the point in defeat 
As they go and leave, and I look upon
Not knowing Disciple Street,


Underneath is not seen for most
Anyone in this town would quickly leave
If they wished to find a way but I am sure
That they want to believe
That the coast lies here,
Not far away and what matter it if I die
Now, not knowing who believes
Or who does not? While,
I lie covered up being lowered down below
And they all celebrate, they know that I'm
Not looking upon Disciple Street,


They're selling images of the day
The moaners are sighing fools,
Surrounded by early sounds of May
Serenity broken by school,
And the emptying of pockets to till,
Donations in the box.
The day will darken yet still,
They'll hold time as in it lies, their box.
And should I believe as they go
That they need something to do?
Tonight, as I look upon Disciple Street.

Liam Ó Beagáin 2002